


The Flight of Insomnia, with a foreword by Alec McDonough

by adamantiteyrie



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Pregnancy, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, meta narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-17 20:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamantiteyrie/pseuds/adamantiteyrie
Summary: Hundreds of years ago, the city of Insomnia vanished. Translated here for the first time is the diary of the doctor who tended to King Noctis Lucis Caelum and his Glaive in the months preceding this calamitous end, with end notes and editorial communications.





	1. Foreword (draft)

**Foreword** (draft)

The discovery of Doctor David Accuratio’s diary shook the academic world to its very foundation. A first-hand account of the final collapse of Insomnia, written by the King’s own attending doctor, was more than anyone could have ever hoped for. When it turned up on the desk of one Margaret Handel, she was so astounded by its contents that she told no one of her discovery until the diary had been translated in full. Her concern was that she would be accused of fraud, or that the diary may very well be a fake, and she was rigorous in her efforts to ensure its legitimacy. Of course, she was instead accused of withholding information vital to the wellbeing and progress of the academic community – with some, you can never win.

I am delighted, therefore, to present to you now the full translation, with notes, of the diary that changed our understanding of just how Insomnia came to its grisly end. In the years following the Dawn, King Noctis Lucis Caelum proved a capable and commanding leader, and so for the citizens of the city to suddenly and without warning vanish, the King along with them, made for all manner of tall tales and otherworldly explanations. Many folk stories

* * *

James,

I have begun the foreword for Ms Handel’s book as requested (please see attached). I’m rather busy so if you wouldn’t mind adding in a couple of paragraphs about those old Lucian fairy tales you’re so fond of, I would greatly appreciate it. If you could also write me a summary of the book itself, that would be helpful; I don’t have time to read the thing in full.

best,  
McDonough


	2. March 4th, 771

Far be it from me to criticise my King – perish the thought! – but I need a place to take notes of an unofficial nature. If you happen upon this, I must impress upon you that I am loyal to the line of Lucis, no matter what you might infer from these pages. You may find many a thing about me questionable, but I will not have my loyalty questioned thus. I write with the presumption that one day these notes will be found; I hope it is long after I am dead. I hope that that death is far off, but in times like these, you can never be sure.

I treated a small boy yesterday for malnutrition. Five years since the Dawn and we’re still seeing cases like it. Here in the city, things are moving forward, perhaps, but beyond Insomnia’s limits progress is painfully slow. Even communications remain limited, despite re-establishing telephonic links being made a priority. Though I heard one of the guards yesterday complaining that he missed the internet. The internet! Until we can get a population that’s stable, that’s safe and well fed- I must not fall into polemic. Needless to say, I found his complaints out of touch with the real needs of most Lucians.

Here in the Citadel, they are pushing forward. I doubt this generation, or the next, will see a return to absolute normality, whatever that is. The scale of the damage done by the empire during their annexing of the city, followed by ten years of languishing under the rule of daemons, was truly incredible. The underground infrastructures, at least, remained relatively intact, but few buildings above three stories remained. Works began centrally, fanning outward from the Citadel. There is perhaps a square mile or two now of rebuilt and refurbished buildings, put together from salvage and rubble of the old. Beyond that, much remains in ruins. The population is at its most dense here, but it is still dismally low.

This brings me to my… quibble, with the King, our Royal Majesty Noctis Lucis Caelum. Due to what he has described as my “excellent work” both within the city and further afield, I have been “promoted” to the duties of the Citadel’s chief medical practitioner; that is to say, I will be attending to the King and his immediates, as well as members of the Crownsguard and members of Citadel staff. While it is an honour to be invited to such duty, I would have refused him had I felt the choice was open to me. When that man looks at you, there’s something in his eyes that you cannot say no to. I am needed elsewhere, but at his command, here I must stay, and tend to the ails of those who have come to be our city’s elite, rather than those who need me the most.

* * *

Translation Notes – where Doctor Accuratio has used idioms specific to the time in which he was writing, I have provided my best current day approximation. For example, what I have translated as “perish the thought!” read literally as “death bless me that others may think otherwise”, which was a common exclamation at the time (though much shorter in its original form than in direct translation). The Insomnians, both pre-Darkness and post-Dawn, worshipped death rites as part of the state religion, the name of which is commonly translated now as Mortuism. Allusions to death pepper their language as a result. It is worth noting that Mortuism is a contested term [1] and our knowledge of worshipping practice amongst Insomnians is limited to surviving talismans and written accounts, few of which remain today [2].  I have also here translated as “internet” a term which refers to a very similar network system Insomnia possessed prior to being annexed by the Empire in 756 [3].

  1. See _A Morbid Error: the limitations of cultural translation_ (The Social and Political Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 3) by Jorge Garcia for further discussion.
  2. See Chapter 3, The Skull Necklace, in _Religious Iconography_ by T. L. Halliband, for reflections on possible modes and images of worship under “Mortuism”.
  3. See _Digital Death: The Loss of an Era_ by Jules Rembrandt for an examination of the server failure and sabotage that saw Insomnia’s digital footprints almost entirely eradicated.



* * *

Durene,

I’ve completed the notes and polished the translation for the first entry. As requested, I removed the paragraph where Accuratio reflects on his memories of the Dawn. I think there’s an appropriate place later on for that section to be reinserted. I can’t move too much around without compromising the text, though, so I don’t want to make this a habit, if that’s okay. Also, I checked with James, and it is spelled Crownsguard, no space, so there’s no need for you to edit that. I decided not to reference McDonough’s book regarding Mortuism as I find Garcia’s article to be more accessible, and this is meant to be a book for the general public.

thanks,

Maggie


	3. March 5th, 771

Initial examinations today. The previous doctor kept notes, but I like to set a baseline of my own. The King is in good health, though his battle scarring is significant – I regret to say he caught me staring, but he simply smiled and pulled his shirt back on. He inquired about my family, in the delicate way that one must these days when most of us are all that’s left of our kin. I informed him that I am the last Accuratio, that I have no offspring, and that in my old age new ones are unlikely to come about. He listened sympathetically, but offered me little in the way of counsel, which felt appropriate. He’s too young to be telling an old man how to feel.

His second in command was a little more difficult. Scientia is proud to a fault, and though not insecure he’s certainly rather haughty about matters pertaining to his body. His eyes remain damaged beyond repair, with only light and dark being perceived. He says he has learned to navigate by sound and other senses, but I find myself stumped as to how the man can stroll about the place without so much as a cane. I inquired as to whether the King was offering some sort of magical assistance, and, despite not being able to see me, I swear Scientia glared at me with an indignance I hardly thought the question merited. He did not take well, either, to being told his blood pressure is a little on the high side. I foresee quarrels with that one.

I find myself reluctant to write in great details about my encounter with the King’s Shield. Amicitia is a physically formidable man and he knows it, and he sees a medical examination as some sort of insult to his ability. In some ways he is not unlike Scientia. He deliberately tensed his upper arm twice during my attempts to take his blood pressure, dislodging the armband with his bicep. He seemed to think it was funny. I should note he has the resting heartrate of an athlete in his prime. He should also, in my opinion, undergo a cognitive test to assess the impact of multiple (multiple!) concussions apparently incurred during his youth. Though he could just be a buffoon.

By the time I’d finished with the three most important men in this city, it was time for lunch. Good food remains scarce, but central Insomnia is nowhere near as wanting as more rural areas for basic sustenance. There’s even some meat to be had here at the Citadel, a few pieces with our grain bowls and rather meagre vegetables. I ate alone in my office and read some of my predecessor’s reports. He has a neat hand, but his accounts lack the detail I would have preferred.

Argentum failed to make his allotted appointment. This, at least, can be explained, as per an entry in my predecessor's notes: “Prompto has a good soul but a terrible sense of direction, propriety and punctuality.” No doubt the appointment slipped his mind. No matter; I have the Crownsguard to see to.

* * *

 

Translators notes – Accuratio’s insult to the King’s Shield does not directly translate into any word in common usage today; buffoon was the closest equivalent I could settle on. Despite being generally exasperated by them, Accuratio does not seem to harbour any genuine resentment towards the King or his Glaive, of whom Scientia, Amicitia and the yet unmet Argentum were the only members.[1] He is simply, as Scientia describes him later on, “curmudgeonly”. Readers with a fondness for folklore will recognise Scientia as a possible inspiration for the Blind Eye of the King, a popular figure in myth and legend [2].

  1. See _Glaive and Glory_ by M. K. Schmidt for an account of the history of the Kingsglaive, “from honour, to treachery, to exclusivity.” It is no doubt owing to the previous Glaive betraying his father that Noctis Lucis Caelum allowed only his closest confidants to be members of his own.
  2. See _My My, Blind Eye and other stories for children_ by Jaqueline Quincy for some of the more definitive tellings of Lucian fairy tales.



 

* * *

 

James,

Thought I’d drop you this part of the translation as the passage about Amicitia tickled me. Sounds like he’d be your type. Durene wants me to add in more lurid description about his muscles and the like, but I refuse on principle. Apparently not even a man’s private diary is sacred. Well, we are publishing it, but the least we could do is publish it accurately. I just don’t think Accuratio would have slobbered over anything, let alone a pair of pecs.

love,  
Mags

P.S. If you have an alternate suggestion to My My, Blind Eye, please let me know. Your field of expertise and all.


	4. March 6th, 771

I possess now an unenviable record: not three days into my new posting and I have been directly reprimanded by the King. I had hoped that perhaps he would dismiss me, but unfortunately the King is a fair and just man. I have been granted the opportunity to make amends with young Argentum.

It began this morning, when Argentum failed again to appear for his assessment. I’d moved other appointments in order to make room for him to see me first thing, and he did not. I was irritated, as I cannot leave his file to languish, and so I went in search of him. He was with Scientia, discussing I know not what, but I suspect it was Scientia’s pressing that finally cowed him into coming to my office when I made the situation known.

As my predecessor wrote, it does seem that Argentum has a good soul. He has a sunny disposition, he’s eager to please, and he’s not deliberately unthoughtful; he held the door to my office open for me, for example, though he should perhaps have waited for my permission to open said door. I’ll have to see about getting a lock fitted. My writings are confidential, after all.

The trouble began when Argentum became reluctant to undress for his physical examination. I assured him I’ve seen everything before, that scars were to be expected when one has fought a war, etcetera. Reluctant he remained, holding the edges of his open shirt close together, obscuring his chest from sight. Then he said, doc, there’s something you should know I don’t think you were told.

I said, oh, and what is that?

Looking more uncomfortable still, he opened properly the front of his shirt and showed me two thick, faded scars beneath the pectorals that indicated the prior removal of breast tissue. It’s been a while since I’ve had to explain it, he said, not looking at me.

It took me a few moments to comprehend. I was alarmed, perhaps, that he would tell me with the visual cues of his body rather than just putting it into words. I am not unfamiliar with the concept of transition, and I’ve encountered it before, but with the last fifteen years, the medical profession has been concentrated on matters of survival, of life and death. I had not seen such... frivolities indulged in a long while.

It was saying this aloud that upset Argentum. Needless to say, I am no longer allowed to describe his... condition? No, no, that’s not the term. His state of being. I am not longer allowed to describe his state of being as frivolous, or indulgent, or as anything other than absolutely serious and respectable. I am also sworn to secrecy, as if my Oath as a doctor was not proof enough that I am no gossip.

At the end of all this, I still haven’t been able to complete Argentum’s assessment, as the meeting was aborted as soon as I misstepped.  

 

* * *

 

Translator’s notes – what could not be translated in this passage is the register in which Accuratio was writing. Previous entries were written in the register adopted by professionals and recognised authorities within communities, while this entry was written in what could be described as the “common” register [1]. I have taken this to indicate that Accuratio felt some sense of shame at his insensitivity toward Argentum, but it could also be that he felt so admonished by his King that he had no choice but to write in a "lower" register. The complexities of Insomnian written registers are beyond the scope of this book, but any further register changes of importance will be noted for the reader. Additionally, Argentum’s status as a transgender individual is not so unusual as Accuratio claims; while the vast majority of digitised records have been lost, there remains evidence that a significant minority of Insomnian citizens were transgender [2], and that they were in the process of being afforded greater rights and protections under the city’s laws prior to the empire’s invasion.

  1. See _Insomnian Register and Mode_ by Blake McKinley for further information about the different Insomnian registers and their usage in written communications.
  2. See _Our Bodies, Our Stories_ by Zara Harrison for first-hand accounts of transgender experiences throughout Lucian history, with commentary and analysis.



 

* * *

 

Durene,

I have used the tracking function to reject the edits you made to this chapter. Please don’t use outdated terms on my work in the future. I will be submitting my version for sensitivity reading by a third party.

Maggie


	5. March 9th, 771

Amends have been made. Young Argentum has assured me that it’s ‘not such a big deal anyways’ and he’s ‘just happy that it’s out there’ and so on, and so forth. He’s had his assessment, and all’s well with that. He has a curious tattoo that he keeps covered day to day – I assume a decision made in youth that he regrets. I made no comment on it to be safe from causing offence again.

I’m starting to settle in to the routine of this place, and I’ve no shortage of patients. Ailments range from coughs to labour injuries, though nothing too serious yet. It’s quite pleasant, actually, to see young children about in a state of... happiness, I suppose you’d call it. Children who don’t remember what things were like before, and children who simply remember that once it was dark and now it’s not, so for them all of this is a vast improvement.

I remember the day the Dawn came. None of us could believe it. Ten years is a long time to be in the dark. All the greenery was gone, all the flora and fauna dead, starved of sunlight or killed off by daemons. That the sun was in the sky again signalled hope, but the sight of Lucis’s once luscious lands so barren… I almost wished that it had remained dark, so that we would not have to look upon those horrors. But then, such a wish seems almost treasonous now, what with the King’s sacrifices, etcetera. Not to sound flippant, but we all made sacrifices. We all suffered loss.

Anyway. There’s a population growth drive at the moment, with incentives for having children, moving into certain areas of the city, etcetera. Stability is far from assured; our numbers are only in the thousands, when they would ideally be in the tens of thousands. More and more people are coming to the city as the infrastructure is built to support them, but many remain behind on mainland Lucis. I’ve heard there’s a thriving community in Altissia, but we’ve no reliable way of establishing whether that’s the truth or just some fanciful storytelling.  I hope it’s the truth.

Scientia caught me just after lunch today – I’ve begun taking it downstairs with everyone else, now that I know a few faces – and asked if I’d mind re-taking his blood pressure readings. I have the feeling that anything less than perfection he takes to be a failure, and as I had the time I agreed. To his dismay, not only was the reading too high, it was higher than it was the last time I took it. We have limited medical supplies, and so where twenty years ago I would have prescribed him some beta blockers, here I could suggest only that he adjust his diet and exercise.

So, while Argentum is now on civil – perhaps even friendly – terms with me, I cannot say the same of Scientia, who was of course insulted as he is otherwise in good health and eats the same as the rest of us. I would like to run more tests, but even here in the city my equipment is limited. I certainly can’t do any scans of his heart. As things have gone so far, I imagine that at any one time I’ll be on difficult terms with at least one member of the Glaive. I wonder what it is that will put me at odds with Amicitia.

 

* * *

 

Translator’s notes – Accuratio has returned to his usual register for this entry, which we can assume indicates his confidence is (mostly) restored. As we now know, the stories of a thriving community in Altissia were true, and it is that community which became the next “global capital” after Insomnia vanished [1].

  1. See _Altissia: The Last Beacon_ by Pauline Amri for an account of Altissia’s revival after the Dawn.




	6. Subject: Title Change Required

Hi Maggie,

Bad news I’m afraid. The title “His Proof of Concept” is already being used by Alan Sheffield over at Saxham Books for his next publication, and I’ve just received a cease and desist from his lawyers on the basis of confusing potential readers. We could push to publish first but it seems easier to me to just change the title and continue on our original schedule. If you could get back to me with a list of possible alternate titles, that would be greatly appreciated.

Also, I need to ask, do be a little kinder Durene. I know she’s something of a relic – I inherited her myself, I’ve no idea who hired her – but she does have a good eye for detail, and she always remembers birthdays. Also, every time you say something that upsets her, I have to fill in a grievance form, which is about as fun as it sounds. So, it’s off the record for now, but please consider what I’ve said. I’m sure the two of you can find some common ground.

best regards,  
Janet Wilburs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, the title of the story will start changing as Maggie tries to settle on a new one.


	7. April 14th, 771

The answer to my question came today. The question being penned over a month ago (has it really been a month? Time eludes me) over what would put me at odds with the King’s Shield, Amicitia. My relationship with Scientia has not thawed, as his blood pressure remains oddly high – perhaps it simply rises whenever he sees me, because I can feel his dislike of me like a sixth sense. If he whispers in the King’s ear to see me removed, nothing is coming of it. I wish that he would push harder, if that is the case. Word from Duscae is dismal; disease from the slough is spreading relentlessly, and the city gates have been ordered shut against refugees from this new peril. I fear that in the coming weeks we will see the dying littering the ground just beyond our walls, and that in order to preserve the city the King will be forced to turn his back.

None of this seemed to be burdening Amicitia when he came to see me this morning, however. In fact, he was remarkably cheerful for someone who had to see his doctor, which made me initially believe his condition couldn’t be at all serious. He calls me ‘doc’, rather than by my full name or title, which I find grating, but I cannot summon the courage to correct him.

I said to him, what can I help you with, Mr Amicitia?

He waved his hand as if brushing cobwebs from the air and asked me to call him Gladio. I repeated my question, using the preferred address.

Got a bit sloppy, doc, he said, not looking abashed or uncomfortable or any of the emotions “being sloppy” might merit.

Go on, I said, not showing my impatience, or that I believed he was wasting my time.

You should probably take a look at it, he said, and pulled down his trousers so quickly I barely had time to blink. As it turns out, the source of his problems seems to be exactly this: pulling his trousers down too quickly.

If he was trying to shock me, it had only worked a little, and I didn’t give him the benefit of knowing that. I inspected his penis, and it was clear to me that he had contracted some sort of infection transmitted through intercourse. It was red, and swollen – not erect, but swollen like a sock stuffed full of cotton wool until it warped, bulging this way and that. The tip wept a yellow substance. It was, he reported, painful to the touch, especially when he urinated (he did not use the term “urinated”.)

I said, well.

He said, can you do anything about it?

Medicine stocks are low, as I have already mentioned in my past entries. Stocks of contraception remain, though they’re not commonly used given the population drive. This of course has side effects, like sexually transmitted illnesses, but this was a particularly bad case, liable to greater infection if left for much longer. So I gave him the requisite medicine, along with a warning that he should be more careful, and a packet of complimentary condoms. I warned him to avoid relations until his symptoms were totally cleared up, and then to use protection unless he was with a long term partner who he trusted, and perhaps wanted to have children with.

Hey man, he said, there’s a population drive on. Just doing my duty.

I bridled at this, and he saw, and he laughed. I doubt he cares what I think, but I think he is a careless, selfish young man who is using the population drive as an excuse to get his end away. I don’t think he has a fatherly instinct in him and that he will be leaving potentially dozens of children fatherless in a dangerous world. That’s what I think. And I’m going to tell the King what I think.

Maybe then he’ll send me away to Duscae.

* * *

Translator’s notes – the disease Amicitia has contracted here is quite possibly gonorrhoea, though the description could be any number of generic infections. Sexually transmitted diseases had a resurgence in this time period as population re-establishment was attempted [1], after ten years of darkness had left people wary of risking bringing children into a world with so few prospects. Amicitia’s behaviour was not entirely unusual, as there was a clear duty to rebuild once the Dawn had come. A lack of readily available medicine also saw disease flourish in general, and epidemics were a common part of post-Dawn life, especially in communities living nearby to hazardous areas (such as the polluted slough) [2].

Finally, at the request of my editor, several entries between the period of March 10th – April 14th have been removed as they were deemed “insufficiently interesting.” The full translation will be offered instead in a later publication, which presumably will cost you a lot more to purchase, because publishing is a joke. Meanwhile, enjoy this chapter about a man’s diseased cock. Will this do, Durene? Are you happy now?

  1. See Chapter 2, ‘Population “Drives” Disease, Not Growth’ _From Chlamydia to Syphilis: Sexual hygiene in traumatised communities_ by S. B. Greenwald
  2. See _A survey of continental Lucis’s epidemics and pandemics, c750-800_ by Claudia Verne 



* * *

Margaret,

I will be filing a grievance against you with Ms. Wilburs regarding the content of the most recent draft chapter you sent me. I have excised the offending passage from the manuscript.

best regards,  
Durene


	8. April 17th, 771

The King has not relieved me of duty here at the Citadel, nor has he given me permission to travel to Duscae. He listened to my concerns about Amicitia with an impassive expression, but the slightest twitch of his lip gave away the fact he found the entire thing amusing. Once I was done explaining my position, he considered, and said well, Gladio is Gladio. And there is a population drive on.

I despair.

One useful thing did come of the conversation. Being that the King is the King, and he cannot simply sire heirs willy-nilly without risking serious power struggles down the line, we sat down and had a conversation about his own prospects for fatherhood. He remains, I fear, reluctant to find himself a nice Queen and settle down in that regard. He still holds Lady Lunafreya close in his heart, and will not let her go. I gently impressed upon him the importance of his own contribution to our collective future. He seemed to appreciate my efforts, and agreed that soon he would have to act. He asked me if I’d ever been in love, and I informed him that we were talking of not a matter of love, but of duty.

He asked me again, and I reluctantly told him that yes, of course, long ago. He did not badger me for details, seemingly content then with my answer. Then, just as he was about to stand up to leave my office (I invited him up, rather than take my grievance against Amicitia to the King’s royal chamber and risk having to report it in front of the man himself) he asked if I had any moisturising cream. His feet, he said, had become dry of late, probably owing to poor footwear. I asked to take a look, but he shook his head and said, I just need some cream for it.

I should have pushed him further and taken a look. It wouldn’t do to hobble the King through medical negligence. But I felt I had already asked a lot of him for a single meeting, and so I let it go. It’s certainly not a serious sounding matter, not like high blood pressure, or sexual contagion. But it’s the King, and one always worries more when dealing with monarchy. I gave him some topical cream and let him leave, securing a promise that he would come back to me if the situation worsened.

We’ve a fair few pregnancies materialising now, of course. Several women have come to me to confirm their suspicions; mercifully I have a reasonable supply of folic acid and similar supplements, which will do in the meantime, but I should like to get a midwife or two onto my staff sooner rather than later. I can handle a birth, to be sure, but I fear I lack the bedside manner expectant mothers deserve. Though of all the fears I harbour, I have to say this one does not weigh down my shoulders as the others do.

 

* * *

 

Translator’s notes – King Noctis’s reluctance to marry and start producing heirs prior to Insomnia’s disappearance has been well documented [1] though theories as to _why_ he was so reluctant are disparate. There is currently a popular trend in the literature that suggests the King was in fact enamoured with a member of his Glaive, though which member cannot be agreed upon [2][3][4]. 

  1. See Chapter 5, ‘King Noctis Lucis Caelum’ in _Heirs and Bastards: Royal Duties in the Bedroom_ by C. J. Thompson.



The following papers can all be found in the Alternative Sociological Insomnian Studies Journal, Volume 4, Issue 23.

  1. See _The Prince and the Pauper: royal and common relations in Insomnian society_ by Dana Fox.
  2. See _To Love and Protect: the King and his Shield_ by Wendy Rineholt.
  3. See _A Lifelong Bond between Servant and King_ by Sophia Spires.



 

* * *

 

Hi James,

Wanted to ask you a couple of questions about this “Alternative Sociological Insomnian Studies” journal you put me on to. I’ve referenced it in my latest chapter but I’m worried that people won’t take it seriously because most of the contributors are women and some of the claims are a little... outlandish. Subversive, even. Which I’m all in favour of, but the publisher is breathing down my neck about this book now, ever since they got that cease-and-desist about the title. I feel like I’m always in trouble at the moment.

If you could get off your butt and reply to me sometime, that would be nice. I know you’re busy but you can take five minutes to say hi to your sister. I know I sound stroppy but I’m tired and my head hurts and I just want a friendly word in my inbox for once.

Been thinking on some new titles for the book. ‘The Flight of Insomnia’ feels a little on the nose, I think. ‘Insomnia Missing’ sounds like one of those indie films you like so much. How about ‘The Insomnia Mystery’? Or is that too schlocky? I’ll try it out for a while and see.

message me soon!  
Mags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this story is now "The Insomnia Mystery."


	9. April 21st, 771

Young Argentum came to me today with stomach pains. I suppose I should stop calling him “Young” Argentum, seeing as he’s the same age as the King, but there’s a certain boyish charm about him which endears me to use the term. Even while grimacing in pain as he came to me for aid he remained relatively upbeat, and I checked his abdomen for any signs of inflammation.

I found unusual nodules in the area of his uterus, which I am concerned may be polyps or cysts. He looked rather dismayed at my findings, and remarked that he wished he’d gone ahead and had his uterus removed back in the surgical stages of his transition. As it happens, one of the reasons to conduct such a removal is to avoid the development of polycystic-ovary-like symptoms, though the lumps aren’t on the ovaries and can be felt through external examination, which is peculiar. What I wouldn’t give for better equipment. A single ultrasound could clear this confusion right up.

I gave him some painkillers and checked his other vitals; his blood pressure is up, to around the same degree as Scientia’s. I asked if he’d been under any unusual stress lately and he said things are ‘fine’, which I took to mean yes. His pulse was a little rapid as well, though that could simply be from the pain. I inquired as to his day to day routines and nothing he described sounded like it was liable to expose him to the contagion threatening from the west; the city gates remain closed, and he works primarily within the Citadel.

I don’t know what inspired me to ask about his feet, but as soon as I did, I could tell from the look on his face that he had a complaint. Yes, just as the King had, he reported dry feet, no matter his choice of footwear, and no matter how well he bathed them. I asked to take a look, and he obliged. His feet were indeed dry, to the point where the skin was cracking not only underneath (as is relatively normal) but over the top as well, in a strange isometric pattern that repeated itself all the way to his ankles. I cannot be sure what has caused it but for it to be present in two closely affiliated men indicates that it is contagious and potentially spread through either direct contact or contact with exposed surfaces, such as showers.

I asked if Argentum and the King shared showering facilities, and he went rather pink in the face. I am not sure why my question has caused embarrassment, but I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. I think I will need to conduct further examinations and see if others are similarly afflicted.

* * *

Translator’s notes – as we now know, the “nodules” Accuratio could feel in Argentum’s uterus were indicative of the disaster to come. The lack of medical facilities five years after the Dawn may seem strange, but the death toll during the ten-year darkness, accompanied by the absolute destruction that took place within Insomnia, meant that few with specialised expertise (such as how to build and maintain advanced medical equipment) remained [1], and any instructions on how to do so were lost in the great digital purge during Insomnia’s annexation.

  1. See _Population Demographics in Post-Dawn Eos_ by Georgia Cartland for surveys of darkness survivors and their occupations.



* * *

Hi Alec,

Just wanted to check in on how the foreword is coming for the book on the Insomnia catastrophe. No rush, just thought I’d ask for an update as publication is almost around the corner!

best,  
Maggie


	10. Subject: re: Insomnia Mystery Book

Maggie,

Thank you for getting in touch. I’m pleased to say the foreword is complete and I’ll be sending my finalised version to Janet shortly. I do have some misgivings about the title, though. It sounds more like something you’d find in the true crime section rather than an academic text. Have you considered “First Hand Accounts of The Insomnian Plague” or perhaps simply “The Translated Works of David Accuratio”? More of a mouthful, yes, but titles structured thus will add considerable weight to your work. We don’t want people thinking this is a frivolous endeavour, not with my name attached to it.

McDonough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling unfairly reprimanded, Maggie has changed the working title of the book to The Translated Works of David Accuratio.


	11. Subject: Foreword

James,

I’m very disappointed not to have heard from you since I requested your assistance on the foreword for your sister’s book. I need the final version ASAP to send to Janet, as the publication deadline is closing in. If I don’t hear from you further I’ll omit the section on fairy tales and finish it myself.

McDonough


	12. May 6th 771

Several peculiar events have occurred. I must take care to record them all accurately and with fair attention given to each.

First of all, Argentum returned to me with further stomach pains, and he is not the only one. Multiple women – all of them believed to be pregnant, I should note – have come to me, and they all have these same round nodules in their uteruses. Breaking the news, one after the other, that they were not in fact pregnant but carrying some sort of unknown cluster of (polyps? cysts? tumours?) was difficult work. It strikes me as odd that Argentum should be in the same condition when he is not pregnant, and cannot become so, but given that I cannot identify exactly what this condition _is_ , identifying as to why he was also affected is currently an impossibility.

The number of people coming to me with dry, cracked feet has also increased, almost exponentially. There must be some sort of fungus about, transmitted through shared bathing accommodations like warts or verrucae. I took samples and am trying to foster conditions in petri dishes to see if I can grow some; mercifully, I have a microscope. The patterning on the feet is consistent on all affected: half ovals overlapping over and over. I have run out of topical cream to provide to the afflicted. The worst case I’ve seen, the man’s skin was sloughing off and revealing some sort of scaly growth underneath. Quite concerning.

But more worrying still, more than all of this, is Scientia. He is currently laid up in the medical wing with a curtain drawn about him; he appears gravely ill. It came over these last few days – his feet are infected with whatever this fungus is, and his toes have started to blacken, but it is not only that. A strange rash has come over most of his body, little black pinpricks everywhere, spaced so closely together he appears persistently bruised. They itch tremendously, he complains, to the point where he is immobile with the sensation. His blood pressure is increasing, and his lips are starting to show the same dryness as his feet. I can only hope that his affliction is unrelated to the fungal foot infection going around, but I fear his condition may be an indicator of worse things to come.

The King came to me about Scientia. He made it clear that if Scientia should die, it will fall on my head – the first sign of irrationality I have ever seen in him.

 

* * *

No translators notes have been provided for this passage.


	13. May 9th, 771

It is like a waking nightmare.

The medical bay has been expanded to accommodate those afflicted with the black pinprick rash, who now number in the hundreds, and those with the strangle uterine nodules have been admitted with what I can only describe as labour pains, Argentum among them. He is greatly distressed, of course, with the dysphoria of such an experience, and I have temporarily sedated him as a kindness. Quite the kindness indeed, because he hadn’t been unconscious for an hour before it began. The women, they began to give birth. But not to children. To eggs. Dozens and dozens of eggs, around a half a dozen per “clutch”. An impossibility – humans are mammals! We are not an egg laying species! And yet before my eyes, out they came, and the mothers have become territorial over their area of the ward, refusing to let me come near to inspect either their health or their brood.

The King is beside himself. He wants an explanation. Not only for this, but for Scientia. Oh, Scientia. He’s been in a room of his own these last twenty-four hours. I don’t want those in the earlier stages of the black pinprick rash to see what is in store for them.

First, each pinprick erupted through the skin, tiny little spikes that, upon scratching, were revealed to be filled with blood. The spikes are some sort of keratin substance which breaks easily, and I and two assistants began removing them from Scientia’s skin using tweezers, plucking them one by one, but it caused him too much pain. He refused sedation. As the hours passed, the tips of the spikes began to turn translucent, as if the blood inside were retreating, but they kept growing, up and up. The ones about his neck and underarms and groin grew the fastest, with those elsewhere being thicker and slower. I was inspecting one of the growths on his neck, which measured nearly two inches and was showing some sort of soft eruption from the tip, when his knees broke.

I shudder even now to remember the sound he made. We hadn’t been thinking much on his feet; like the others, they are covered in a scaly layer that reaches now to his knees, and his toes are growing black and hard to the touch, but in the scheme of things it seemed a secondary concern. Then the muscles in his legs spasmed, contorted, and snapped his knee caps inwards. There was no warning, little preamble. He jerked in pain, howling, and I accidentally pulled the spike from his neck that I had been trying to inspect. He passed out, mercifully, though I don’t know if it was from the pain or the sight of his legs bent so... incorrectly.

Amitica has been up here as well. He is in the early stages; dry feet, no rash as of yet. He’s been tending to matters of an entirely different nature: outside the city gates, where refugees from the Slough epidemic have been camping in the hope of finding safety here, there have been multiple attacks from a creature locally known as a _chokobolta_. The reason for its appearance is unclear, but it has been causing problems at the city borders nonetheless. Amicitia mentioned there may even be two, three of the things. They’re bigger than houses, with fists the size of cars, so I shudder to think of even one. Or I would, if I wasn’t so busy shuddering away up here in the Citadel, surrounded by... by this plague.

Argentum is started to grow feverish, and has not yet passed the eggs I now know to be inside him. I intend to remove them via a caesarean section. I asked the King for permission to go ahead without waking Argentum first. He looked nauseated, but acquiesced. I simply want to prevent Argentum’s suffering further. In any other scenario, I would of course ask his consent, but...

Ah, and one last thing. That blood spike I pulled from Scientia’s neck, the one with the strange soft eruption from the tip. I inspected it under my microscope. It is plumage.

He is growing feathers.

* * *

Translator’s notes – _chokobolta_ translates almost directly into the term “chocobo eater” or more generically "bird eater".[1]

  1. The Official Lucian Bestiary, 67th Edition, provided by the Lucian Bestiary Council.



* * *

James,

Your phone is switched off, where are you? I’ve been trying to call for a couple of days now. Mum can’t get hold of you either. We’re all worried. Please get in touch.

love Mags


	14. May 10th, 771

The operation on Argentum was a success, and I’ve now been able to study these eggs first hand. The women in the ward have become greatly hostile, and are developing feathers and what we now know the be clawed feet at a rapid pace. This... transformation, seems to be gathering momentum. The King and his Shield both now have the pinprick rash that precedes the feather growth, but are continuing in their duties as the city falls into chaos. The gates are still closed; no one is allowed in, or out.

But, to the eggs. They contain, of course, chicks. The ones I took from Argentum have already perished, and that fact does not sadden me. They’re ugly little things, not yet feathered, eyes closed, beaks soft. In some twisted way, the King’s population drive has seen great success. I doubt this was his vision. I also wonder how many of these chicks will count Amicitia as their father.

Scientia’s metamorphosis is complete. He is now fully feathered, his nose and mouth hardened to a sharp beak, his eyes darkened to black. He has regained the use of his legs, bent now in reverse to the human tradition, and his arms have folded into wings. He no longer seems to understand human language, and stalks back and forth in his room, furious at being contained. I suppose he wants to fly – those wings are large enough to be capable of it. His plumage is a mottled grey and brown, similar to the colour of his hair prior to this. I don’t know how long we can keep him locked up. His legs are strong enough to kick and knock a man prone.

The King came to me again for answers. I had none. No, I’ve never seen this before, no, I know of no cure, or means of reversal. No, I cannot bring Scientia back, no, I cannot stop us from meeting the same fate. He started to laugh, almost hysterical. So much fighting, so much struggle, for it all to come to this? And the chokobolta still harries the city limits, chomping at the bit to get inside. At least now we know why.

* * *

Translator’s notes – where I have translated “human language” Accuratio originally used the term referring to the language common to Lucis and Insomnia at the time, _astralian_ , named for the gods worshipped at that time [1]. It is now clear what befell the Dawn settlers of Insomnia, though the cause remains uncertain. It could be that this was some strain of the Scourge that saw darkness take over the land in the first place, but records of daemonic transformations do not match the account given here [2]. It could have been caused by a pathogen planted in the city by The Accursed Usurper Ardyn Izunia during his reign as a last “gift” to those who survived his odious ten-year rule [3]. It could simply have been bad luck. Ironically, the majority of the refugees from the Slough, fleeing an epidemic of their own (which amounted to symptoms such as vomiting, fever, etc) survived [4].

  1. See _The Cosmogony: A History_ by Ruby Dougherty for information on the Astrals and their role in ‘Mortuism’ and the formation of language.
  2. See ‘Chapter Two: Presentation of Infection’ in _A Primer on Daemonic Transformation_ by Harvey Temple for details on how daemon transformations manifest.
  3. See _The Reign of Izunia_ by Jules Firth for a comprehensive history of events in Insomnia spanning the ten years of darkness.
  4. See _A survey of continental Lucis’s epidemics and pandemics, c750-800_ by Claudia Verne



* * *

Hi Maggie,

Glad to hear your chapters of the book are nearly finished. I must admit to being a little disappointed that we don’t have the intersecting chapters about Insomnian fairy tales that were suggested early on in the process – is there any chance we could get those back in the picture? Also, I’m afraid our marketing team have deemed the current title (“The Translated Works, etc”) as being too academic – we’ll scare off potential readers with something that dry. Perhaps the title could reflect the ultimate outcome of the book? You mentioned “The Flight of Insomnia” a while ago in a meeting, I quite liked that one.

best regards,  
Janet Wilburs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of the book has now been changed to "The Flight of Insomnia".


	15. May 12th, 771

It is a story I would not have believed had I not seen it with my own two eyes.

So many have fledged now that we cannot contain them. Where once I had patients, now there are birds – taller now than men, with wingspans of up to two meters on the largest. Their legs have claws large and sharp enough that a kick could kill a man. The plumage is quite the mixture, but most tend toward duller browns etc. Scientia can be told apart with his dapple grey colouring. The King’s are jet black, and the Shield has patterning similar to that of an eagle. Yes, they are both now transformed, where two days ago they were walking and talking like ordinary men. It was all happening so slowly, and now it is happening all at once.

As a medical professional, I don’t know what to do. This has long been out of my hands, and yet I still feel responsible. All I can do is observe; the King, Scientia and the Shield all seem to be keeping counsel still, in whatever manner birds do. They linger near one another, at least, making sounds that I cannot interpret. I have allowed Argentum to undergo his own transformation in his sleep, rather than put him through all the pain by waking him prematurely. I’m sure once he wakes he’ll accept his lot – I’m not sure how much thought goes on in the brain of a bird, I’m no ornithologist – and join the others.

The city is in a state of chaos. I believe some have chosen to flee; I cannot blame them. I do not think they will get far, if the transformation takes them. Another _chokobolta_ has begun stalking the city perimeter, and I have no doubt more will come as the city fills like a crude aviary.

We cannot remain here. How calm I feel as I write this, even as my skin sets afire with the rash that I’ve seen on so many others. I can only hope that the King has a mind to take flight as soon as the last of us have joined the flock; the only safety we can have will be in numbers, and we will need a new, more suitable home. To think, I’ll never again read a book, or even hold a pen. The darkness robbed us of so much – good food, safe water, medicines – and all I can do in the face of this is sit and wait until we are robbed of the rest. What do birds do? I never really troubled myself to find out.

I suppose now it is time to sign off, before my hands are taken from me. It has been an honor to serve the King, Noctis Lucis Caelum, and to care for his people in the heart of Insomnia. Though I was reluctant to come to the Citadel, I am glad that I did. Despite my initial doubts, it is clear to me now that I was needed here most of all. I suppose people will wonder where we all went, how a whole city could vanish. Here I leave you with the strange but true answer:

We flew away.


	16. Subject: Sorry

Mags.

If you receive this e-mail, it’s because I’ve not made it back in time to delete it. I set it up to send one week after I left, because as you’ve probably figured out by now, that’s what I’ve done. I’m sorry I didn’t write any of the fairy tale stuff up to go in your book – to be honest, I don’t think it would have fit. This isn’t fairy tales anymore. This is the real thing.

I read your translation from start to finish, obviously. There’s so much in it that lines up, almost, with my own research. All the imagery with wings, how did we never see it before? I guess because it sounds so ridiculous. But I knew by the time I’d finished I had to go in and see for myself. I know, it’s supposed to be impossible to get in to Insomnia now. People die trying. But there’s only so much we can find out from out here. I want to go inside, up to the Citadel. Think the egg shells will still be there? I’ll bring some back if I find them. I mean, if you’re reading this, then I haven’t, but I want to.

I’m not like you, Mags. You’re a desk academic, and that’s fine – that’s important work too. But I’ve always wanted to be out there, collecting the stories, speaking to people. Seeing it first-hand. I have to do this. We can’t just keep looking in from the outside and making guesses. We thought we knew a little and it turned out we knew nothing, and it was all in that book. Where’d you even get it? Guess I’ll never know now.

Anyways. I hope your book’s a best seller. I hope everyone wants to read it, I hope people believe you, and Accuratio, because I do. Oh, and Alec McDonough is never going to finish that foreword without me there to write it, so find someone else – your book deserves better than that self-centered jerk.

And call the book The Flight of Insomnia. Puns are great.

Love,  
James.


	17. Epilogue

_A lone bird approaches the flock, feathers rippling in the wind. He banks sharply, coming in to land near the edge, curious and suspicious eyes turning to look at him. Head lowered, he nervously picks his way through the crowd, occasionally darting this way and that as they nip his feet, hurry him along, distrustful. The air is filled with the sound of clucks and squawks. The ground is dotted with nests, which he gives a wide berth, not wanting to anger any of the sitting hens. He moves towards the center of the congregation, wings tucked close to his body, legs a little unsteady. It’s all so new to him still._

_Awaiting him in the middle, perched upon a jut of rock that could well have been considered a throne, is a huge and regal bird with jet black feathers, flanked by its loyal Glaive. The grand creature turns to look upon him, and inclines its head in greeting._

_He is home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone who followed this story and commented and let me know that they were enjoying it. It's been a strange journey, but I had fun.


End file.
